


seedbed

by Knightblazer



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Body Modification, Bottom Hank Anderson, Brainwashing, Conditioning, Dark, Drug-Induced Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hentai, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Multiple Orgasms, Plants, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Pollen, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23472145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: Ever since having Connor, Hank's life has never been better.And yet, something about these peaceful, idyllic days nag at the back of his mind.(A sequel toviridian & electric blue. Once again, please head all of the tags/warnings above and in the notes.)
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 25
Kudos: 137





	seedbed

**Author's Note:**

> **Full warnings:** Sex pollen/drugged sex, full on mind control/brainwashing, implications of conditioning, more ahegao faces, body modification, some dark/creepiness thrown into the mix, and of course even more good ol' plant tentacle/vine sex because that's what we're all here for. And just like before, this is all more or less done without Hank's explicit consent as Connor is still a goddamn alien plant with no concept of human morals.
> 
> As mentioned in the summary, this is a sequel to [viridian & electric blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22241869), which you should probably read first before coming to this one. Both of these fics more or less have the same type of warnings attached to them, so if any of these tags contain something you're not comfortable with, feel free to not read this fic. It's basically shameless horny plant porn that I wrote while recovering from eyelid surgery.
> 
> For the peeps staying on, hope y'all enjoy this just as much as I wrote it. :P

"Thank you. Please come again!"

The bell jingles as Hank takes his leave from the shop with a smile on his lips. Once upon a time such a sight would've been rare on him, but these days Hank finds himself in a constant chipper mood. He doesn't really know _why_ he feels that way, but then again, is it important to have a reason? It's been so long since he's ever let himself just be _happy_ that he'd rather just hold onto this feeling for as long as he can.

He squints up to the sky, which is nice and clear and very blue. There isn't a single cloud in the sky so the sun is shining right down, it’s rays blinding—

(bright and shimmering and sparkling, fragments of colors that keep on shifting and twirling and dancing in his eyes, drawing him deeper and deeper and deeper—)

"—hey. Hey mister!"

Hank startles and blinks out of his sudden reverie, glancing around to see who'd been calling for him. He doesn’t see anybody at first, which confuses him for a second, and it's only when he feels a tug on the edge of his sleeve does it click for him. "You doing okay, mister?"

Hank looks down and sees the kid who’s gazing up at him in concern. He's no younger than six, with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and when he grins upon getting Hank's attention, he can see a spot where the boy's tooth must have fallen out. Just like that day in the carnival all those years ago with—

"Hey, mister!"

Hank blinks again. "I—yes?" he manages to fumble out, his tongue somehow refusing to work for a second there. Once was bad enough, but drifting off so quickly twice in a row? Ugh, maybe that's why people said not to look directly at the sun. This constant spacing out really isn't doing him any favors.

The kid tilts his head and gives Hank a quizzical look. "You're the mister who gave my momma a plant at that shop the other day, right?"

This time Hank binks in confusion. Did… he do that? Quickly, he tries to search his memory, but when nothing comes back to him Hank feels a pit of anxiety starting to form in his gut. Why can’t he remember it? Surely he had to remember if he did something like that—

(he smells flowers and pollen, the shimmering afterimage of flowers that shiver and thrill as they bloom a beautiful electric blue)

—it comes back to him in a flash, then, and his anxiety ebbs away as quickly as it'd come once said memory slots into place. Yes, yes, he remembers now. It'd just been a slip of the mind, nothing more and nothing less.

He nods to the kid. "Yeah, I did. I thought she might like it." 

"She loves it!" The kid nods eagerly then, blue eyes sparkling bright. "And I love it too! Yesterday I taught it how to dance!"

"Oh, yeah?" Hank finds himself smiling. He remembers the first time he taught Connor how to dance as well. He'd put on his favorite rock music, and the little guy had started to wriggle to the beat before they'd even realized it. He still does it too, now, especially when…

(electric blue flowers all around him. pollen dusting the floor, the walls, the ceiling. shimmering, sparkling eyes with ever shifting colors, a kaleidoscope that Hank can stare at forever and ever)

A shiver down his spine is what gets Hank out of his thoughts this time. He blinks and shakes his head yet again. Boy, he really needs to stop letting his mind wander off like that. Maybe he's more tired than he thought he was? That'd make sense as to why he feels so... spacey.

He focuses his attention back to the kid, who luckily hasn't noticed his spacing out in favor of continuing to babble about all the things he plans to do with 'Ralph', who Hank assumes is the name that the kid has given to it. "That's really great to hear, kid," Hank cuts in as soon as he finds a moment in the boy's rambling to do so. "I'm glad you and your mom enjoy, ah, Ralph. But I gotta go now, okay?"

The boy looks momentarily crestfallen, but perks up in a matter of seconds and nods once more. "'kay, mister," he pipes up, smiling. "Thanks again for giving us Ralph! It's made Mom smile a lot again."

Hank smiles back in return. "Yeah," he replies, almost dreamy, as a warm feeling of contentment flows through him. "He did the same for me, too."

After making sure that the kid heads off in the direction of where his mother is, Hank makes his way home. Originally he had planned to drop by at another store, but a sudden wave of exhaustion had hit him out of nowhere and now all that Hank could think of is to _go home_.

And so go home he does. He makes the trip back, feeling his exhaustion worsen with every passing minute. He's so tired that he nearly misses his stop on the bus and barely manages to scramble for the bell, which is fairly embarrassing. But whatever. He's almost back, and that's what matters. Everything will be fine once he reaches home. Hank doesn't know why he feels so certain about that, but it makes sense. Home is where he's safe. Home is where he can be happy again.

Home is where Connor is, after all.

* * *

The way home is a familiar path that Hank's taken countless times by this point, so even in his exhaustion Hank manages to walk down the usual route with only his memory and experience to guide him. 

All the same, the fact that he can feel some of that exhaustion wearing off from him is a welcome feeling. With every step he takes closer to home Hank feels a returning spring in his step, a new dash of energy that hadn't been there before. As much as he appreciates it Hank doesn't know how long this burst of energy will last, which only makes it all the more important to get back home as soon as possible so he can rest when he inevitably crashes back down.

He hastens his pace, eager to get home, but as he gets closer the urgency he’d felt slowly changes to something else—something... uncertain. Hank tries to ignore it at first, telling himself he'll deal with it when he gets home—but somehow it's the thought of being home that makes that uncertainty swell up even more, completely overtaking the urgency he'd felt moments ago.

_It's not safe,_ something at the back of his mind shouts. _Don't go back._

Hank comes to a stop mere steps away from the front door, one hand already delved into the pocket of his jacket in order to retrieve his keys. They’re already in his grasp, and he feels the cool metal slowly warming up from the heat from his palm. 

He looks at the front door of his house and frowns, wondering where this hesitation is coming from. As far as he can tell, everything looks the same as it always has. There's not a single thing out of place. Nothing that he sees is giving weight to all the warnings that some part at the back of his mind continues to shout out.

( _turn back,_ it hisses, angry and volatile. _turn back, turn back, turn back, get the hell out of here while you still can—_ )

A loud _CRASH_ comes from within the house, and the sound jerks Hank back into the present. He shakes his head, chasing away the voice telling him to stop and turn away because like hell he can do that when there's clearly something happening inside his goddamned house. 

Hank closes his hand around the keys in his pocket, then takes the last few steps to his front door and pulls them out. He slides it into the keyhole and begins to turn.

( _don't,_ it screams. _don't do it, don't you fucking do it, DON'T DO IT—_ )

The door unlocks with a soft 'click' and swings open, revealing a gloomy, foreboding darkness. Hank feels himself hesitating to step in, despite the fact that this is his home.

( _it's not your home. not any more._ )

Hank frowns and shakes his head once more, The voice is so unpleasant to listen to. It needs to shut up.

( _not until you turn back. this is your last chance. go away, please. fucking go away before—_ )

The musky scent of flowers and pollen float to him, honey sweet and warm. Hank feels his eyes flutter as he takes in a breath of that comforting, familiar scent and feels himself relax. It’s so easy to let himself sink into that scent, to let it bring him to where he needs to be so he can return to where he belongs and—

The voice inside him screeches, like a rabid animal trapped in its cage. Where before there was still coherency, now all Hank can hear is a single, deafening scream of _**NO**_. It makes him wince and cringe as that one single shriek reverberates through him, threatening to split his head into two. He recoils, hunching as his skull explodes with pain, nails crawling at his scalp as the screaming in his head rises to a crescendo. 

( _get out Get Out GeT oUT GET OUT **GET OUT** —_)

The shouting in his head is so unholy now it feels as if the words themselves are scratched into his mind, every letter stark red on white. It tries to sear itself into him—one last desperate, howling attempt to make him _listen_. And a part of Hank does want to listen—he truly does—but it hurts so much and it's so _loud_ and he needs it to _stop_ —

Without warning, his hands are yanked away from his head by something around his wrists, and they tug him forward. He jerks, eyes flying open as he gaps, and the moment he does that he sees a bright, brilliant blue flower right in front of his eyes. He'd seen them before, of course. They were Connor's flowers..

...but he doesn't remember them ever being this big. This one could easily cover his entire face.

Hank feels his breaths start to quicken as his mind races to understand what’s going on, but before the panic can truly set in the flower leans in and presses itself right up against Hank's face with the pistil going straight between his lips, causing Hank to gag and splutter. Whatever that'd been holding his wrist lets go soon after that, and he falls on all fours while continuing to cough out all the crap that got into his mouth. There's the pollen, of course ,but also the pistil of the flower that smashed into his face too.

Hank grimaces as he spits it out, feeling his tongue and lips tingle from the nectar that was inside it. It's incredibly sweet, sweeter than anything he'd had ever had, yet it doesn't repulse him like he’d expected. In fact, now that he's had a taste, Hank feels his mouth starting to water at the idea of more. He shouldn't, it’s not right, but at the same time…

His thoughts trail off as the thick, musky scent from before wafts over to him once more, but unlike earlier now there is no more screeching voice in his head to keep him away. In fact, the pain is entirely gone now, eclipsed by a warm, smoky caress that soothes away every last bit of discomfort that he'd been feeling, leaving nothing else but quiet, hazy contentment.

Hank relaxes, letting that wonderful scent sink into his tired mind and take away all the pain inside of him. It drapes over him like an invisible blanket, overlapping all of his other senses and making him sigh and sink down onto the floor in a blissful haze, wriggling happily against all the bumps on the floor that soothe the remaining aches in his body in just the right places. Bright blue flowers shiver around him, their petals glowing brighter after the click of a door in the distance plunges everything into darker, denser darkness. Hank watches them thrill and flutter, shivering as beautifully as a butterfly's wings as they dance in the dim light. 

He watches them until his eyes grow heavy with exhaustion, and when he does close his eyes he sees their imprints dancing behind his eyelids, leaving afterimages that flutter with the warm, comforting scent of pollen and honey.

* * *

It is night time when Hank wakes up.

He knows it is nighttime because he opens his eyes to the faintest bit of moonlight that's managed to shine through the miniscule gaps of the vines that's grown over his windows. He stares at that small patch of silver light as it shimmers in his vision. If he didn't feel so drowsy and his limbs weren't so heavy, Hank thinks he might have tried to hold it in his hands.

He doesn't know how long he spends staring at the light, but eventually something else catches his attention—the sweet, tantalizing scent of pollen and honey that he knows so well by now it might as well have been engraved into his memory. But even then, the effect that it has on him does not fade in time unlike others. The moment Hank catches the scent he feels himself react; his mind snaps to attention, his mouth waters, and his bare skin breaks out in gooseflesh as a shiver runs down his spine.

Something around his wrists and ankles slackens and slithers away. Hank pushes himself up to his feet, his body moving without complaint despite having been lying on the floor for what must have been hours. He wriggles his toes and feels them press down against the firm softness of the vines underneath his feet.

...when had there been vines all the way here? He frowns, trying to decipher this mystery. Some nagging part at the back of his mind attempts to shout out something. If he could just—

The scent of pollen and honey thickens, enveloping the very air Hank now breathes in. The thoughts in his mind flicker and pop. Of course the vines are here. They've always been here. It makes perfect sense for them to be here, especially because...

As if on cue a path of brillant, electric blue comes into bloom before his eyes. He watches, enraptured, as the tiny blue flowers that make up the path flutter and thrill, causing the pollen from their tiny centers to drop and litter the path that’s now laid out for him. The sticky scent of pollen thickens further, and from a distance Hank hears something that can almost be called a song. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard, like all of his favourite jazz tunes combined together in a harmonious blend, and he starts swaying along to the rhythm. The scent, the sound—it's all so wonderful. Hank wants more, and he knows what to do in order to get more.

He starts to walk on the path of flowers, following the wonderful music and the beckoning scent. He shivers with every step that he takes as the pollen sticks onto his bare feet, eyelids drooping as the music and the scent relaxes him even further, until he's moving without thought, happy to be led like a moth to the flame.

Once again, Hank doesn't know how long he takes—it could have been a minute or even an hour and he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. What he does know is that eventually he arrives to where the music and scent and flowers have led him to, and once Hank sees who's waiting for him a dreamy smile appears on his face.

"Connor." 

Connor smiles back, eyes sparkling like beautiful diamonds. "You're back," he says, and just like the music that has now faded his voice is also the most beautiful thing that Hank has ever heard. "I'm glad."

The flowers in the ceiling shiver, and the scent of pollen thickens even further. Hank shivers in response as his eyes droop even more, almost going completely shut. He knows he just woke up, but he wouldn't mind sleeping again with this wonderful, amazing scent...

Hank feels something cool and firm wrap around his waist. "You must be so hungry," comes the soothing, caring cadence of Connor's voice. "Let me give you what you need."

The thing around his waist tugs once, gently, and Hank follows without thought. The vines underneath his feet are softer than ever, and as he gets closer the sweet, delicious scent of Connor's nectar gets stronger. His mouth waters again as the smell hits him harder now that he's so close. He can almost taste it—sweet and warm and delicious, filling him up so nicely and making him feel so _good_...

Just thinking about it is enough to make heat begin to pool between his legs. His arousal is a slow burn, slowly cascading through the rest of him in thick, heavy waves like honey. God, he feels so empty. He needs... He needs...

One more tug brings Hank right up against the cool firmness of Connor's body. A flower blooms right next to Hank's face, and Hank only sees its brilliance for a brief moment before it's pressed onto his face by a clawed hand that’s made up of nothing but vines.

"Deep breaths, Hank," Connor says, stroking his hair when he obeys. "I know how much you love it." 

Hank nods in return. He loves this. He knows this right down to his bones; an inexorable truth that he cannot deny. He breathes in deep, taking in that sweet, intoxicating scent of Connor's perfumed nectar and moans open mouthed into the flower. The pollen from it smears across his face and lips when he does that, tingling like tiny sparks across his skin, spending little pulses of pleasure that make him shiver as the aching emptiness inside of him becomes all the more present.

Hank whines. Connor pulls the flower away from his face and smiles at him, eyes gleaming diamond bright. "I know you've been aching for it," he croons, like a parent trying to comfort their child. "You'll feel much better soon, I promise." 

A pair of vines slither around his legs after those words, then curl around the curve of his ass, framing each side with the cool, firm grip of a vine. They stay like that for several moments before Hank starts squirming against the vines that hold him, whining again as the need he feels becomes so much more demanding. It's only then that they move once again—tensing up at their ends so that they can firmly grip the flesh of his ass and spread his cheeks out. Hank feels the cool air brushes over his hole when that happens, sending sparks shooting through him like lightning, causing him to shiver and whine yet again. At the same time he feels a gush of _something_ hot and wet spill out from his ass and trailing down his thigh.

The sensation is surprising (shocking) enough that it gets Hank out from his lust addled haze. He blinks once, dazed, then slowly brings his gaze down to between his legs, where he can see a thick, clear fluid trickling down from where such a thing should _not_ be coming from.

This _other_ surprise is enough to wrench a semblance of reason back into Hank, who realizes in quick succession that firstly, whatever is happening now is _wrong_ —and secondly, Connor is much, much bigger than he last remembered. Those two things are enough to get his survival instincts kicking in. Hank begins to struggle against the vines that are holding him captive.

"Let go!" he grunts out, but the vines do not listen. Instead, they only hold on tighter, staying wholly immovable to Hank's struggling. Hank struggles harder in response, the instinct to survive coming in even stronger.

But in the end, his struggle proves to be futile. Hank eventually is forced to stop from sheer exhaustion, and he sags against the vines holding him captive, panting as he catches his breath. For a moment, there is only the sound of his breathing, and then...

"You're unhappy again."

The voice is soft and sad, filled with a hurt that a part of Hank instinctively wants to soothe. But he pushes those thoughts aside and instead focuses all of his hate on the _thing_ that has caused all this to happen.

"Connor," he snarls out it's name this time, and his voice is full of malice and disgust.

The plant (it, thing, _not_ Connor) frowns. "You were so happy," it ( _it_ is a thing, not a person, never a person) says, the confusion audible even through the many layers of its melodic-like voice. "So happy to take my seeds inside you."

Inside—Hank feels bile rise to the back of his throat at that thought. It only gets worse when he finally lets himself _see_ how very wrong everything has become. The room—Cole's room—is now completely overrun with vines, and from the corner of his vision he can see them growing out of the room as well. Faintly, his mind supplies him with images of the rest of the house similarly overrun with the vines too, and though Hank wants to deny it he knows deep inside that those images are real. Especially when he can see for himself just how much _bigger_ Connor has become right in front of his eyes.

Hank would look, but he knows that he shouldn't look. He can't look, not unless he wants to end up staring into those eyes that sparkle and shimmer, constantly shifting colors again and again…

Hank wrenches his mind back before he can slip away again. Too close, that was too close. He shakes his head, chasing away the thoughts. But even when he does that he can't do the same for the _smell_ , which has only gotten thicker and more present with each passing moment. It's strong, heady and overpowering, making his head spin from how potent it is. Even if Hank tries to breathe through his mouth he can taste it all the same; a tingling sensation of pollen and honey and sweet, heavenly nectar—

"No," Hank hears himself saying, but his voice is so weak it might as well have been a whisper. "No, please..."

Connor simply shifts to tilt Hank's head up in response, letting their gazes meet. Hank sees nothing but the shifting, sparkling kaleidoscope colors of Connor's eyes as he smiles, sweet and tender.

"Don't worry," he coos out, one hand reaching out to stroke Hank by his cheek. "I'll make sure you'll never be sad again, soon."

In that moment Hank's mind flashes to the faint memory of a child who had smiled and told him how his gift made his mother happy, and another of a shopkeeper who'd also smiled and informed him of how all the 'stock' he'd given them had been successfully sold off. 

A deep, sinking realization takes root of him as the pieces click in his mind. Hank's eyes widen as he shakes his head vigorously, and he tries to fight against his bonds one more time with all the strength that he can muster—as if some part of him knows that this is the very last chance he's got.

But he also knows that he's in far too deep, and when another flower comes into bloom before his eyes all Hank can do is to stare at its bright, brilliant blue petals helplessly before it gets pressed up against his face once more, engulfing him with the sticky, cloying taste and scent of pollen and honey. Trapped as he is, all Hank can do is to breathe it in, and when he does he feels it move through him like a physical, tangible thing. It slides down his windpipe and into his lungs, dissipating through the capacities and dissolving into his bloodstream. As that happens Hank feels the burn of arousal light up within him again; it starts low in his gut and gradually builds up, slowly but surely burning him up from the inside. 

It doesn't take long before the need he feels becomes too much to bear. His thighs tremble as slick leaks out from between his legs, and his hole clenches around an aching emptiness that’s only made worse when he's pulled closer and his equally aching cock is pressed all up against Connor's cool, firm body. With how hard he is, Hank can't do anything else except to try and rut himself against him, whining with every thrust as he desperately tries to get some relief from the sheer need that courses through his body now. 

He's so engrossed in what he feels that he almost misses the sigh coming from above him. "I know you've been feeling so empty since delivering your first batch of seeds," he hears Connor say. “Don’t worry, I’ll correct that soon.”

Some part of him registers the meaning of those words, can feel the horror sinking in when he puts two and two together. But that part of him is already so far away from the rest of everything else—where all he can think of is how hard he is, how empty he feels, and how all he wants is to keep rutting against Connor until he finally gets what he wants. He ruts harder, keening, as if trying to tell Connor without words about what he wants. 

Connor hums, as if having heard his plea, and he pulls away the flower from Hank's face so that their gazes can meet once again. "Don't worry," he murmurs, repeating the same assurance from earlier. "This time, I'll make sure you'll never feel empty again."

Before Hank can even think about asking what that might mean a vine rises up in the space between them, then darts straight into his mouth and down his throat. Hank instantly gags, tears welling up as he thrashes against his bonds once more, struggling to breathe past the appendage now forced inside him. It’s too much, he needs it out and then he needs to throw up, he needs to—

Pollen. Honey. Nectar. Thick, warm, comforting, _full_.

Hank manages a breathy sigh around the vine and relaxes all at once, letting himself drift in a warm, lazy wave of lassitude. The heat in his gut burns stronger as something thick and syrupy slides into his belly, making him shiver. His cock twitches, letting out a dribble of precome that slides down the length of his cock, and the sensation of it happening makes him squirm.

Hank doesn't know how long the vine is stuck down his throat, pumping him full of whatever it is that's now in his belly, but eventually it pulls away, and where Hank would've have been gasping for air and panting in pain instead all he feels is a distinct fullness in his stomach that wasn't there before. He feels it hum, warm and comforting, sending pulses of pleasure that has him shivering as his eyelids flutter. His cock gives another twitch, and even though he’s hard the sensation of being _full_ eclipses everything else that he feels, leaving Hank drifting idly in a numb, fuzzy sensation of contentment.

He barely reacts when he gets shifted, when the world tilts and goes horizontal in his vision and all he sees is the ceiling that is also completely covered in vines, with specks of brilliant blue peeking at him between the green. All Hank knows is that he feels warm and happy and full and when a pair of firm, thick vines slither around his thighs to spread them apart he lets it happen, only reacting with a whine when he feels a blast of cool air over his slick, leaking entrance.

"Let's get you ready," Connor sings to him, beautiful and hypnotizing, and Hank moans as he feels the first breach of Connor's vines into him. They're not big by any means—far smaller than his fingers, designed to stimulate and nothing else, which Hank very much is right now. He squirms on the vines as they slide deeper into him, whimpering as they stroke host his insides with maddening, feather light touches, as if trying to explore and probe rather than actually wanting to fuck. 

Hank tries to clench around them, but they're so thin he might as well have been clutching around nothing at all. He mewls, trying to wordlessly beg for more, already far too lost in his need and want to think about anything else.

But to his dismay, Connor doesn't respond. He simply lets his stringy vines rile him up more, stroking all the sensitive nerves inside of him and smiling when he sees the precome dribble out from Hank's leaking cock and splattering onto his belly. 

"Beautiful," he coos out, and somehow hearing that praise sends a warm pulse of pleasure through Hank, making him tremble. He likes it when Connor calls him beautiful. It makes him feel _good_. He hopes that Connor will call him that again and again, for as many times as he wants. 

But even if he doesn't, the way Connor touches him from the inside is just as good. The vines slide impossibly deeper into him, brushing across even more of those sensitive nerves which riles him up further. The arousal continues to build, piling higher and higher, driving Hank further out of his mind. He starts to struggle against the vines once again, but now it's for a completely different reason. He jerks his hips, asshole twitching, keening as he feels a new wave of slick spill out from him in response to his growing need.

"Please," he begs, voice broken and needy. What Connor's doing right now is nowhere near enough to satisfy the hollow emptiness inside of him. He wants more—needs more—enough to fill him up in all the right ways, whatever that may be. All he knows is that he _needs_ and that Connor will be the one to make it all better. He'll make him happy again, like what he promised earlier.

Above him Connor hums in response to his plea, though he doesn't say anything. Not that he has to, really, with what he does next; Hank gasps the moment he feels even more vines enter him, these ones thicker and firmer. They push into him with ease, the slick that he's readily leaking out making it all too easy for them to slide in deeper, deeper, _deeper_. As they do they brush by all the same sensitive spots that the first wave of vines had touched, except this time there's more pressure and contact and it sends even more sparks of pleasure zipping through his body, and all Hank can do is tremble and moan as all those sparks burst in his eyes like fireworks. God, yes, it's already so good, and Hank knows that this is only just the beginning. He already can't wait for more.

Hank tries to urge Connor on by jerking his hips again and letting out another needy sound. The vines are already so deep inside of him, but if they go just a little bit deeper—

He knows it when it happens, because the pleasure hits him like a landslide, utterly blindsiding him with just _how_ much it all feels. Hank arches his back and screams, coming so hard that his vision turns white as he shatters apart with just a single press against his most sensitive spot.

Connor works him through it with practiced motions, milking his prostate with a soft, thrilling noise that reverberates through his body, sinking into his mind just as how his thoughts sink into Connor's dazzling, dancing eyes when he leans over to make their gazes meet once more while Hank slowly comes down from his orgasm.

"You're so happy," he says, and the words wash over Hank, sinking into his dazed, empty mind and turning into truth. He is happy. He is so, so happy to have Connor, and to do whatever it is that he wants because it makes Hank happy, too. And Hank always wants to be happy, after all the time he’s been sad and hurt and in pain. It would be wonderful if he could just live in this sensation of bliss forever.

Connor hums once more, as if having heard his thoughts. "I was worried earlier, when you still kept being sad," he murmurs. "But it's alright. Soon, you'll always be happy."

The vines that had been resting inside of Hank begin to move again. The first thing they do is to press up against his prostate, causing Hank to keen and squirm at the burst of sensation that shoots through him because it's far too much far too soon after he'd just come.

He might've said something, perhaps, but his mind is still far too gone to think of anything coherent, and any chance to do that quickly evaporates as the vines mercilessly strike Hank's prostate again and again with inhuman accuracy, sending shock waves of sensation crashing through his body. All Hank can do is to let himself get dragged along for the ride, moaning helplessly as he gets fucked by Connor's vines all over again. 

It should hurt, being fucked again so soon after he'd just come, yet that pain doesn't come. Instead all he feels is wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure, as if whatever pain that he should've felt has been changed. It should be concerning, but such thoughts are far away in Hank's mind by this point. All he can focus on is the pleasure that takes him again and again as Connor's vines fill him up. 

He's so lost in it all that Hank doesn't even realize he's hard again until another vine comes to wrap itself around his cock, squeezing it and stroking his leaking head in time to each thrust of the vines within him. Every press against his prostate is accompanied with a firm squeeze around his cock and a maddening flick at the head, making even more precome drool out from the tip and fall down onto his belly in hot splatters.

Hank moans when he feels that, his body trembling again at the sensation. The flowers in the ceiling light up and shiver, causing more of their pollen to rain down onto Hank, sticking onto his skin which only sends even more sparks of sensation zipping across his veins. Hank jerks his hips once more, whining in need as his arousal catches fire and starts to burn hot and steady in his gut yet again. He thinks he hears himself call for Connor but he cannot tell for certain. Either way, it doesn't matter because Connor is touching him again, one massive hand stroking down his stretched belly.

"You're ready," he announces, and Hank shivers at the promise in his voice. He doesn't know what Connor means by that, but he doesn't care either. All he cares about is being able to have more of Connor—every part of him, as much as he can.

Which is why when Connor suddenly withdraws all the vines that'd been inside him the only reaction Hank can give is a needy, despairing whine. His asshole twitches, clenching around a gaping emptiness that he can feel all the way in his bones. Why did Connor pull away? He doesn't want that. He wants Connor to fill him up, to take away this hollow sensation that's clawing him apart from inside out—

Connor shifts him back upright again, and the vines around his legs spread them back and out as far as Hank is physically able to. Like this, it's not hard to guess what happens next, and when Hank feels the head of Connor's vine cock bump up against his hole a new wave of slick gushes out from his ass.

Hank doesn't even last a second of teasing before he crumbles from the sheer need that he feels. "Please," he rasps out, far too gone to not think about begging. "I need you."

Connor smiles at him in return, eyes shimmering bright and his sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight, and then he's lowering Hank right down where they both want him to be. Hank sobs the moment he feels Connor's plant cock sinking into him, feeling so fulfilled from getting filled up in the exact way he's been aching for all this time. 

He trembles with every inch of Connor's cock that buries itself deeper inside of him, his body already overloading from the sheer amount of pleasure that sparks from the way each bump of Connor's cock rubs over every sensitive nerve within him. His arousal ratchets itself up higher as he feels more of Connor's cock inside of him, and when he finally bottoms out the head presses against his prostate in just the _right_ way that makes Hank shake and jerk in Connor's vines, eyes rolling back as he gasps at the burst of pleasure that explodes between his eyes, temporarily whitening out his vision again. 

But unlike last time, now Hank has no chance to rest. As soon as he regains his vision Connor lowers him down onto his cock again, and once more Hank is lost to another wave of pleasure that crashes through his body. He moans this time, and when he does so Connor leans in, bringing their faces close to safely slide his pistil into Hank's mouth and gives him the nectar that he'd been craving for. It floods his mouth, spilling out of his lips and dribbling down his throat and sliding down his skin in sticky trails. He's a mess, yet the only thing he can do is to keep on drinking, gulping it down greedily and moaning low in his throat as Connor continues to fuck him through all of this.

"I'll give you a bit of myself this time along with my seeds," Connor tells him, like how a parent consoles their child. "That way, you'll never be lonely again. You want that, don't you?"

Hank can only nod, mindless, eager for anything that Connor gives him. Anything, as long as he can keep feeling good. 

Connor hums in approval, and a pair of smaller vines slide up Hank's body to curl around his nipples, squeezing gently as the ends flick and tease the tip when they stiffen. Even more vines crawl up his body, purposefully passing over all the areas of his skin where the nectar has trickled down to, making Hank writhe at the intense sensations. It feels like a countless hands are touching and stroking and petting and teasing him, intent on driving out every last thought with pleasure. Hank's eyes roll back again as he moans once more, so overwhelmed from sensation and pleasure and everything else. He's close, he's so fucking close; all he needs is a little bit more, and—

Connor squeezes his cock, pumping another flood of nectar into him the same time he jerks Hank down to press right up against his prostate. The sensation from all those things comes together at once and its far, far too much. Hank moans brokenly as he comes hard and violent, feeling himself shatter into a million pieces like the fractured colors of Connor's multifaceted eyes. Everything dissolves, dissipating into the brilliant blue light of Connor's flowers, and Hank knows that when he comes back from this he'll never be the same again.

* * *

"The fuck is this, old man?"

Hank blinks, unfazed by the insult as he watches the man—Gavin, he thinks that is his name—before him examines the pot that Hank had thrust onto him with a fair amount of disgust. "I know you got this new hobby and everything, but that doesn't mean I want a creepy plant for myself, thanks."

"Just give it a look," Hank responds. "I promise you it's worth it."

Gavin sneers in return. "Please. I'm not going to fall for such a—" He stops then as he finally lays his eyes on the little seedling in the pot, and Hank shivers when he sees that familiar emptiness in the other's eyes. 

It disappears as quickly as it comes, leaving Gavin dazed and blinking. "Uh... I guess I can take it, if it means you'll stop coming around and being creepy." He pauses briefly, shaking his head. "Does it have a name or something?"

"Nines."

"That's a stupid name." Despite the words, Gavin is cradling the pot to his chest, already being careful even as he turns around. "I'm gonna call him Dick."

"Do whatever you want," Hank responds, but he knows that Gavin is no longer paying attention to him. He watches as the man walks away with his gift, smiling at the sight of it.

The moment Gavin vanishes from his sight Hank feels the vine inside of him move, giving him that last bit of pleasure that he'd been aching for through the whole meeting as his reward. His eyes roll back as he comes right there and then, uncaring to whoever might see it.

After all, it's only a matter of time before they, too, get one of Connor's seeds to make them just as happy as he will now always be.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to me, have horny plant porn at 6969 words as my gift lmao.
> 
> Like with the previous fic, feel free to follow me on my saucy adult twitter **@tasonado** where all my horny ideas get posted to when the mood strikes me. 
> 
> For the people who read the previous fic as well as this one, I salute you yet again. Hope y'all enjoyed this raunchiness.


End file.
